


After the Fall

by EversaurusRex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fifth Year, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hermione's done with everyone's shit, Hogwarts Fifth Year, M/M, Multiple Pov, Mystery, Oblivious Scorpius, Pining, Post Cursed Child, Redemption, Romance, Scorbus, epilogue compliant, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EversaurusRex/pseuds/EversaurusRex
Summary: War comes in two parts: defeating the enemy and pulling things back together. In hindsight, Hermione Granger longed for the simplicity of the first part.Years after the fall of Voldemort and things still aren't right yet. Distrust among the Wizarding community seems to be at an all time high, and extremist political groups are on the rise. With an increase in Muggleborn hate crimes and a loud Blood Purity party coming out for the first time since the end of the war, times are tense and the world seems to balanced on a precipice that the Minster of Magic is all too aware of.Meanwhile, Hogwarts isn't immune to the outside world. Between students mimicking their parent's dangerous ideology, studying for his OWLS, and dealing with a confusing crush on his best friend, Scorpius Malfoy is just ready for things to go back to normal. Whatever normal is.





	1. Chapter 1

 

As Minister of Magic, there was little that Hermione Granger couldn’t control. She had run of all departments of government, she knew the mysteries that the Department of Mysteries held so close to home, and she could tell any citizen what to do—within the law—and expect to be listened to. Well. Almost any citizen. Her mother-in-law was an exception to… well, everything apparently. 

 

“You’re so skinny, darling,” Molly Weasley scolded her, piling somehow even more food onto Hermione’s plate. Hermione looked over her tower of pancakes to her husband, giving him a  _ help me  _ look. He just shrugged, as though to say ‘what do you want me to do?’ Useless. “And I swear you look like you haven’t slept in a month. You need to sleep. And eat up! Ginny and her crew will be here any minute and you know what teenaged boys are like. There won’t be any food left unless you hurry along and tuck in. You need it.”     

 

Hermione didn’t bother pointing out that there was absolutely no way they were running out of food anytime soon, and even with herself, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Hugo, Rose, James, Lily, Albus, and Scorpius—and Hermione really wanted to know Ginny got Malfoy to allow _that_ —there would be enough leftovers to feed an army. 

 

The Floo sputtered to life in the living area, coughing and swirling and making all sorts of noise as the Potters  _ finally  _ arrived. Hermione said a quick ‘thank you’ prayer for the heat and attention finally moving from her little slice of the family and onto Ginny and Harry’s. She and Ron had arrived yesterday. Hermione didn’t do ‘Holidays’ and she didn’t take time off of work. That was not a luxury that the Minister of Magic was going to have. And with all of the turmoil going lately, things were especially volatile. As a teenager she’d always thought that once they killed Voldemort, everything would work itself out. As Minister of Magic, she knew that wasn’t the case. Blood Purists still existed and for some reason in the past months had been on the rise. 

 

She didn’t know what to do about it.  

 

If it weren’t for Ron practically dragging her to the Burrow for a few days of holiday, she’d still be sitting in the office right now. Today they were gathering with Harry, Ginny, their kids, and going school shopping and then it was back to normal life. The Minister of Magic never got a true holiday. She still worked from the Burrow, but she was excited to get back to normal life at the office with all of her contacts and information and no one demanding that she just  _ relax _ . As though you could demand that someone relax. It was utterly ridiculous. 

 

“You look awful, ‘Mione.” Hermione jumped from her thoughts and looked up at Harry, standing in the entryway to the kitchen and looking at her in concern. She scowled at him. 

 

“Thanks, Harry. I appreciate it.” She twirled a messy piece of rapidly greying hair around her finger. High stress ages you. She knew that. She didn’t need to be reminded of it. 

 

“Er, I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ ,” Harry corrected quickly. “Just, well, Merlin, mate. You look like you could use some proper rest.” 

 

“Thank you!” Ron said from across the table, mouth full of food. 

 

“I don’t need sleep. I’m  _ fine. _ ” Hermione pursed her lips and took a deep breath. “But thanks. For, uh, your concern and all. Where’re the kids? And Ginny?” 

 

“Other room. Molly’s…you know. Greeting. I slipped away.” He sat down between Ron and Hermione at the table, sighing. 

 

“You know you can’t escape the hugs and force feeding,” Hermione teased, poking at his ribs. “She still thinks you’re a skinny little kid.” 

 

“I’m old, not deaf!” Molly yelled from the other room and Hermione felt her cheeks g pink. Ron just laughed loudly at her. She gestured rudely at him. “Also not blind, dearest. There’s little eyes you know.” She turned, seeing Molly and the gaggle of Potter children standing in the entry way. Ginny was (failing) at hiding a smirk and laugh at Hermione’s expense. 

 

“Oh, please, Grandma,” Lily said, flipping a strand of red hair over her shoulder. “We’re  _ not  _ babies. We all know what the two fingered salute is. Flipping the V is hardly a—” 

 

“Lily, darling,” Ginny said, her hand wrapping around her daughter’s mouth. “Stop.” 

 

Molly didn’t comment but she gave her daughter a scolding look that just rolled right off of Ginny. “Well, come on, come on. Sit and eat. Wouldn’t want anything to get cold.” 

 

It was a crowded and comfortable affair, with people squeezing to fit in around the table and scrambling to pile plates high with food. Teasing conversation and barbed remarks were flung familiarly around. It was typical. Their pre-Hogwarts tradition. Only poor Scorpius looked out of place, confused, and overwhelmed. Hermione mouthed a sympathetic ‘Sorry’ at him, remembering her first time at the Burrow and how strange it could seem. His eyes just went wide and he looked more likely to pass out than ever before as he tugged urgently at Albus’s sleeve. She sighed. That was the effect she had on some, as Minister. 

 

“So!” Arthur piped up, his voice carrying over the rumble of conversations. “Any classes you lot are looking forward to this year?” 

 

“Oh, I finally get to take divination,” Lily said immediately, bright as could be. “I can’t wait. It's going to be wicked.”

 

“Divination is a load of—” Ron cleared his throat before Hermione could finish sharing her sentiments about Divination. She cleared her throat awkwardly and tried to change the subject. 

 

“How about you Scorpius?” she asked. She didn’t want him to feel left out. “Any courses you’re excited for?” 

 

“Oh, well, ah, I don’t know,” he stuttered, painfully awkward. “I, well, I suppose I really like A History of Magic. It’s fascinating, you know? But I don’t know if I’d say I’m particularly  _ excited _ for that this year. I just enjoy it. Ah, I guess actually the one I’m looking the most forward to would be Muggle Studies this year. I, um. I just find it interesting.” 

 

“Really?” Hermione’s brow arched and everyone’s attention spun to him. 

 

“How’s your dad feel about that?” Ron asked, saying, as usual, what everyone was thinking. 

 

“Ronald!” Hermione said. He didn’t  _ have  _ to say what everyone was thinking. 

 

“Muggles are fascinating, are they not?” Arthur said, leaning over the table to meet Scorpius's eyes. He wore a wide grin, looking genuinely happy to have someone to talk to about Muggles and how amazing they were. Most of the table inwardly groaned, but Scorpius lit up like a Christmas tree. Albus grinned watching Scorpius's happiness. 

 

"Oh, they are!" Scorpius said. "The things that they can do without magic is incredible."

 

"They function as well as wizards in most daily life, you know. Oh, maybe they have to use more time and elbow grease, but they find their way around not being able to use magic amazingly well, don't you think?"

 

"Oh, of course. I saw thing about... oh, artificial lights. You just flick a switch and there's light! Who comes up with that stuff?" 

 

"Thomas Eddie-sin," Arthur said. "He's an American bloke that invented the lightbulb ages ago." 

 

"Edison," Hermione corrected. "Thomas Edison. Although, there's some debate about who actually invented it." 

 

"Yes, yes, of course," Arthur said, waving his hand. "Oh! Here, I've got some things you'd be so interested in seeing. Ah, if you're finished eating that is."

 

"Oh, I am. I couldn't eat another bite." 

 

Scorpius and Arthur both left the table quickly, heading off together and Hermione shook her head. 

 

"I'm going to go with them," Albus announced, not a few moments after Scorpius left, following out of the room despite the fact that Hermione knew for a fact that Albus had no interest in seeing whatever muggle artifacts Arthur had thrown together and wanted to show off this time. 

 

"They're very... close," Hermione pointed out as she watched them leave the room together. 

 

"Of course they are," James said. "They're totally ga--"

 

"James!" Harry snapped. "Not one word." 

 

James just shrugged and went back to eating what had to be his third helping of food that Molly had piled onto his plate. James was tall and skinny. Much taller than Harry had been at seventeen, but skinny as a beanpole. Hermione had no idea where he kept all of the food that he was able to eat. She envied his metabolism. As she got older it felt like anything she ate caused her weight to go up. She had to be exceedingly careful with her diet in her older years, less she blow up like a balloon. She grimaced at the thought, though it didn't seem impossible at all about that point. 

 

"So. Diagon Alley," she said. "We need to come up with our plan of attack."

 

"Er, perhaps we don't think about it as a plan of attack to begin--" Harry began. 

 

"Divide and conquer," Ginny said, interrupting her husband. "One set goes off to find and reserve all the books necessary, another to get the robes. Those are the big chores. James and Albus don't need new cauldrons--the ones they have will do fine--but I know Lily's needs an upgrade and Hugo probably does, too. The little things like that shouldn't take too long once we get through Flourish and Blotts and Madame Malkins. We're dropping Scorpius off with his father once we arrive and they're doing their shopping then heading home." Hermione thought she heard Ginny mutter something about the benefit of only having one kid to shop for. 

 

"Sounds good," Hermione agreed. "I'll be on the Books Team. Harry, do you want to join? Let Ginny and Ron worry about robes?" 

 

"Yes," he agreed far too quickly, as Hermione expected. Reading a book list was easy. Choosing robes for the year was not. 

 

She was exhausted already. 

 

    *** * ***

 

Hermione had always loved being around books. So it was weird for Harry when he realized that she was just as flustered and distracted when surrounded by piles of her precious books as she had been back at the Burrow. Scorpius was with his father, probably almost done shopping already, the lucky bastard, and he’d managed to convince Ginny and Ron to take all of the kids with them. They had to try on the robes to make sure they fit after all, right? 

 

In reality, it hadn’t been very difficult to convince the two of them to take the children. They were worried about Hermione and were willing to give her a few moments alone with Harry. It wasn’t a big deal at all. She was… not herself. She was always high stress, high speed, always on the move, but as of late she’d seemed worse. Harry rarely saw her alone. Ron joked that he didn’t hardly either, but Harry was starting to think that maybe that wasn’t a joke. 

 

“Are things alright?” he blurted out as they walked around the ‘Historical’ section, looking for Albus and Rose’s textbooks this year. 

 

“Hm?” Hermione asked. 

 

“Are you alright? You seem… I don’t know. Distracted, I suppose?” 

 

“Oh. I suppose. It’s just…” she trailed off and shook her head. “It’s nothing.” 

 

“What is it?” 

 

“Do you ever miss the days when the most complicated thing we had to do was defeat Voldemort?” 

 

“Every day.” 

 

She smiled. “I miss you.”

 

“I miss you, too.” 

 

“Oh, this will never do,” Hermione said, pulling out a copy of ‘A History of Magic: Volume Five.’ She tutted. “Second edition. We can’t do that. This one was noted by a Quick-Quotes Quill with a defected charm that miswrote large portions of the Great Glamour War of 1652. No, no, second edition will not do at all.” 

 

“We could spend more time together, you know,” Harry said, grabbing a title he recognized that they needed and throwing it in his basket. “There’s nothing stopping us.”

 

“Oh, works just been crazy lately.”

 

“Work’s always crazy.” 

 

“Can we not? Please?” Hermione flipped around and looked at him. Something in her eyes made Harry just nod in acquiescence. She sighed. “We can talk later. Just… not now. Not here. I want to get this shopping done, and then I want to go home and get back to normal.” 

 

“Later,” Harry agreed. “We’ll talk later.” They hugged briefly, then continued their shopping and that was that. 

  
  


*** * ***

 

Scorpius Malfoy knew he didn’t fit. He was too awkward, too clumsy, too  _ sweet  _ to be a proper Malfoy or Slytherin but too cunning, too ambitious to be anything else. He was an anomaly that was placeless. That had been the theme of his life, but that was okay. It didn’t bother Scorpius. He knew he wasn’t meant to fit like a puzzle piece into a predetermined role. He wasn’t just a Malfoy or a Slytherin or anything else. He was just Scorpius. No, what bothered Scorpius was that the rest of the world didn’t see it that way, too. His mother had understood, but she was gone now. His dad tried, and Scorpius had never once in life quested his father’s unconditional love, but love wasn’t the same thing as  _ getting it _ . He’d seen his father’s brow furrowed in confusion-cum-judgment and that dismissive ‘why-do-I-even-bother’ headshake so often that he could practically see it with his eyes closed at this point. Now there seemed only to be Albus, who saw him for who he was and not who was supposed to be. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if the predetermined role for him wasn’t one ‘evil’ and ‘child of Voldemort’, but looking at Albus trying to fit into the shoes of Harry Potter told him that that probably wasn’t the case. 

 

So, yes, Scorpius knew that he wasn’t quite right in the eyes of his world, and he readily accepted that with minimal outward shame. But his current activity took strange to such a new level that the near permanent anxiety that filled him was screaming like a siren, making itself known loud and clear. He had his door locked and was sitting at his desk, staring at the strange device sitting in front of him as though it was poison. It was just the right size to wrap his palm around the cylindrical green handle. The top widened out into a flatter cylinder with a clear plate of plastic holding the electrical insides in. There was a button on the handle that, with great trepidation, Scorpius flicked. He flinched backwards when, upon flicking the button, a light shone from the device. Scorpius knew this was going to happen—the muggles called it a torch for a reason—but it still surprised him. 

 

There were muggleborns and halfbloods out there that probably, no  _ definitely,  _ didn’t get bent out of shape about using muggle… things. Scorpius knew even Albus didn’t get all weird about touching muggle things. But none of them were Malfoys. Malfoys were above such mundanity.   _ Primitive  _ his father would say.  _ They’re… primitive.  _ It wasn’t the same condemnation and disgust his grandfather would have used, calling muggles less-than and stupid and animals, but it was only barely better. Usually, Scorpius might agree—although he liked to think himself above such judgements—simply because how could they hope to function on the same level as wizards without magic? Scorpius couldn’t imagine living without magic. And yet here he was, holding an artificial  _ lumos _ in his hand that anyone could use, be they wizard, muggle, or squib. He flicked the button again and the device powered down. 

 

Scorpius had a small cardboard box filled with little muggle trinkets like the torch sitting beside him. A gift from Mr Weasley—Arthur, as he’d asked to be called. ‘There’s too many ‘Mr Weasleys around. Just call me Arthur.’ But that felt disrespectful.

 

‘My wife is making me clear up some of the clutter around the house. It pains me to throw these out, but no one else appreciates these properly. Would you like them?’ he’d said. He’d charmed the box to fit inside of Scorpius’s pocket and now here he was. 

 

He didn’t know what all of the little devices did. There was one that Mr Weasley called a ‘remote.’ He said it didn’t work without a ‘telly.’ A lot of them, in fact, didn’t seem to work properly. ‘Bat-trees,’ Mr Weasley had explained. ‘They run on Bat-trees.’ The torch was the only one that seemed to work properly. That and another one that Mr Weasley had told Scorpius to be careful with. It was slate grey and maybe six inches in length, shaped like a rounded rectangle. It fit comfortably in Scorpius’s palm, with a trigger under his fingers. At one end there were two barbs. When Mr. Weasley powered it up a blue light danced between the barbs. ‘Don’t touch that. It’s elek-tritity. Very very very painful.’ He shuddered as though in memory and powered it back down, but not before warning Scorpius to not actually hit the trigger. 

 

Scorpius just set that one back down.

 

He sighed and pushed his box of muggle things to the side. He was  _ bored.  _ Being at home was so very boring. He knew Albus hated being at school and while Scorpius wasn’t wild about the teasing and name calling and social interactions, at least it was something to do. And at least he got to see Albus. 

 

He’d spent nearly his entire summer with Albus, most of it here at the Manor—his father had not wanted Scorpius going and spending time at the Potters and Scorpius suspected it was more out of loneliness and fear than anything else—and yet that still didn’t feel like enough. Despite only being separated for a few hours now, Scorpius missed Albus. 

 

Hogwarts might not have had much, but it had Albus and that was enough to make it a paradise. 

 

Scorpius was ready to go back. 


	2. Chapter 2

Scorpius bounced on the balls of his feet, craning his neck to try and see over the crowd of King’s Cross. “You’re  _ sure  _ they’re going to get here?” he asked his dad for probably the fifth time that hour. “What if… what if they miss the train? Or can’t get through the partition? Sometimes people run late and that closes, you know. They have to organize a lot of people. Like  _ five _ people. You’re sure they’ll get here? They’re running very late.”

 

“Yes, Scorpius, Potter will be here. He’s always been here. Why would he miss the train this year?” Draco sounded exhausted with him, but Scorpius just bit at his nails and shrugged. “Don’t bite your nails.”

 

“I don’t know.” He always worried about Albus getting here. Ever since they’d met. He hated waiting for Albus for anything and Scorpius had a tendency towards worry. About everything. Irrationally. “But what if, dad? I don’t know how I can make it through an entire year without Albus.”

 

“There’s no ‘what if.’ Albus isn’t going to miss the train.”

 

“Yeah, but what if?” 

 

Draco sighed loudly. “In the extremely unlikely—improbable, really—event that Albus Potter does not show up to take the express, I will personally see to it that he—”

 

“Albus!” Scorpius jumped up and waved his right hand in the air, seeing the tufts of dark hair that signaled his best friend had arrived. “Oh, sorry. I interrupted.”

 

“It’s fine, Scorpius. Really.” Draco frowned at Scorpius. “You spent almost your full summer with him. Surely you can’t have missed him  _ that  _ badly.” 

 

“He’s my best friend,” Scorpius explained, picking up his trunk. “I’m going to go say hi—oh, hi, Albus!” Albus had made his way over to Scorpius and Scorpius smiled widely at having him nearby. Scorpius threw his arms around Al’s shoulders and hugged him close. He liked this. He liked that they hugged now. They should have been hugging from the start. Hugs were awesome. The best. Really really really amazing. 

 

“Er, I think that’s long enough, Scorp. I sorta can’t breath.” Albus pushed off, breaking the hug and the magic. Scorpius flushed and scratched at his neck, embarrassed. 

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.” 

 

“Is Rose here?” Scorpius asked. Albus grimaced. 

 

“I dunno. I’m not her keeper.” 

 

“Oh, okay.” Scorpius nodded and looked around for her. She was pretty, so he liked her. That’s how it worked. “I just figured because you’re, like, cousins. And she’s pretty okay. Are you feeling alright, Mr Potter?” Scorpius’s attention was dragged to Albus's father. He looked  _ exhausted.  _ His under eyes looked bruised and there was a line between his eyebrows that Scorpius would have sworn wasn’t there just a few days ago. 

 

“Huh? Oh. Everything’s fine, Scorpius,” Mr Potter assured him. “And I’ve told you a million times: just call me Harry.” 

 

That wasn’t going to happen. 

 

Scorpius’s attention was once more grabbed by the goings on about King’s Cross. Lily was off with her group of friends hanging off of her every word and Mrs Potter was there helping with her luggage. He finally found Rose standing next to her dad with Hugo, wishing him goodbye. Her mum wasn’t there. That was weird. He waved at her. She didn’t see him. James was talking to a familiar face. 

 

“Why is James talking to Elladora?” Scorpius asked, frowning. Elladora Ellsworth was a seventh year Slytherin. She’d been a prefect last year and was reportedly Head Girl this year. Elladora was cool, in that she was an older kid that had always been nice to Scorpius and Albus. Very helpful and everything.

 

“Hm?” Albus looked around, found where Scorpius was staring. “I don’t know, Scorp. I’m sure they know each other. They’re both prefects. And now Head Students. It’s not a big deal.” 

 

Scorpius supposed Albus was right. 

 

“Hey, we need to start boarding already before all the compartments are taken,” Albus said, nudging Scorpius in the side. 

 

“Yeah!” Scorpius agreed, a touch too eager. As usual. Albus grinned and grabbed his luggage. 

 

“Not without saying goodbye, of course?” Mr Potter asked, smiling all throughout. Albus grimaced and gave his father a reluctant hug and ‘goodbye’ wish while Scorpius and his father stood in front of each other, unsure of what to do. Neither of them really know how to handle these situations. Scorpius finally just threw his arms around his dad, said ‘goodbye’, and promised to write. 

 

Finding a compartment turned out to be easy and it seemed no one liked them enough to try sit with them, which suited Scorpius just fine. He didn’t particularly want anyone sitting with them. He had Albus all to himself and that’s how he was most comfortable. “I brought snacks,” Scorpius said digging through his bag to find the candies that he brought. “Without the trolley witch I figure they're probably a good thing to have. Don't you think? I’ve got a good feelinging about this year. I really think it’s going to be better than last!” 

 

“That’s not a very high standard,” Albus pointed out. 

 

“No. I suppose not. But I’m trying this optimistic thing!” Scorpius said. “I’m pretty sure most people are over the whole son of Voldemort stuff, you know?" 

 

"I don't want you to get your hopes--"

 

"And I figure as long as I'm nice and friendly, no one has a reason to dislike me. I figure we should try and be more social this year. Put ourselves out there some more. I think that would be good for us, Al. Maybe go out for a team or something. That's a good way to meet new people right?" 

 

"Right. But, Scorpius... I really think you should slow down some. If someone  dislikes us, it's hardly our fault."

 

"It's not their fault either. You don't have to like everyone."

 

"No, well, I suppose not but--"

 

"And I figure that it's okay for not everyone to like me. That's not the goal here. I just want to have some more friends. I mean, I love you and all, Albus, really I do. I don't mean that you're not enough or whatever, but I figure that it would be nice to have some other people as well, you know?" 

 

"I know, Scorpius, I just really don't think you should get your hopes too far up." 

 

Scorpius frowned. He didn't like the sound of that, but he didn't want to fight with Albus. Not while they were still on the train and everything. And he figured that Al probably meant well. Albus had a tendency towards being pessimistic sometimes. That's all that this was. It usually didn't bother Scorpius a bit. Nothing about Albus bothered Scorpius usually. He meant when he said that he loved Albus. As a friend, of course. 

 

"Okay," Scorpius finally agreed after a bit, shrugging. "But I don't want you to go in with your hopes already down. Don't you want to meet some new people, too?"

 

"You know that I do."

 

Scorpius didn't know that. While Albus was easily upset by the fact that no one really liked them, he'd never felt that Albus really wanted or needed anyone else in his life. He was totally content with SCorpius. Scorpius was happy with Albus, but he wanted a wider friend group, too. He just did. But he'd already decided to not press the issue. 

 

"Oh! I should show you what Mr Weasley gave me!" Scorpius said.

 

"I already saw what grandfather gave you," Albus said, shaking his head. "I was there with you. It was just a box of Muggle junk."

 

"Not all of it," Scorpius argued. 

 

"You didn't bring it along, did you Scorp?" Albus asked.

 

"Of course I brought it."

 

"Why'd you do that?" Albus asked, looking him with that look that was a cross of fond and exasperated that Albus always seemed to have for him. 

 

"Because I like it."

 

"You know it won't work at Hogwarts," Albus said. "The magic counteracts the technology."

 

"I want to know why, though," Scorpius said. "I want to know why the magic and the technology can't work together."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"There's nothing inherently anti-technology about magic, is there? I mean, what would that even mean? Technology can mean anything from a toilet to elec-trity to a _wheel_. Technology is just the application of ideas and progress, essentially. So what is it about modern technology that magic doesn't let work? What is it that magic does to the technology to make it not work? And is there way to cast charms that would allow the magic and technology to both work at once? Or, better yet, magic that works _with_ technology and elec-trity. I took some books out from a Muggle library and I want to read them and learn all about it. The things your grandfather gave me will be useful in my research."

 

Albus sighed and shook his head. "You're over-complicating it, Scorp. It won't work."

 

"You're being negative again," Scorpius said, frowning and shaking his head. "I know I can figure this out, Albus. I know that I can. It's what I want to try and figure out."

 

"If you say so."

 

They didn't speak much the rest of the way to Hogwarts. 

 

It was weird. Scorpius didn't like it. 

  
  


*** * ***

 

Hermione had wanted to be there for her children going off to school. She’d never wanted to be the mother too caught up in work to miss her children’s events, and seeing her children off to school was an event that she definitely hadn’t wanted to miss. 

 

There was no choice this time. There was absolutely no way she could get away from work this time around. Rose, ever intuitive and understanding, had been accepting and gracious about this. She'd hugged Hermione, said her goodbyes, and told her that she hoped everything was okay. Hugo, however, was less okay with it. She wondered why she couldn't have one of the thirteen year olds that wanted nothing to do with his mother. Who wouldn't want his mum seeing him off in front of his friends. 

 

She didn't mean that. She loved her dear, affectionate Mummy's boy and wouldn't trade him for the world. 

 

But, dear Godric, it made things like this difficult. He'd stomped his foot and railed against how utterly unfair she was being, and she knew she saw a tear roll down his cheek before he'd stormed off to his room angrily after she'd told him he wouldn't be there today.

 

Somethings were more important than going to King's Cross, though. Not very many things. She'd always told herself, even as she rose all the way up to Minister of Magic, that she could take the occasional day off to be there for her kids. That they wouldn't grow up with an absentee mother and that the day she started thinking work was mort important was the day that she'd quit. 

 

Real life was far more grey than that, though, and this time there was something more important than seeing her children off. Papers were flying in and out of her office all morning. Aurors and MLE officers were everywhere and she felt in over her head for one of the first times in her life. 

 

There had been a murder. 

 

That wasn't so bad. She felt awful thinking it, but that's what it was. People were killed all over the world everyday in the wizarding world and the Muggle one. It wasn't something to get the Minister involved in normally. Hell, it was normally not even something to get the Aurors involved in. The Magical Law Enforcement officers took care of it, and that was it. 

 

It was only a problem for the Minister of Magic in rare case scenarios. And this was a rare case scenario. The first body had been found a few weeks ago. It was a muggleborn woman by the name of Magdelena Gomez. The cause of death was... difficult to say. She seemed to be dehydrated. She was all shriveled and dried up. But upon medical analysis, Healers declared that she was fine. Her body was intact, except for the fact that any observer with the naked eye could tell that she wasn't fine at all. Magdelena was a fit twenty year old woman. A little bit overweight before her murder, but really she was a pretty girl newly moved in from North America just getting started in her career over in Britain. She had a few friends, many lovers, and no enemies as far as the MLE squad could find. And, yet, here she was, dead. 

 

Nothing about it said murder except three simple words, wrote in something unidentifiable along the wall: "Heart; Weep; Rue." 

 

Awful. Tragic.

 

Still not her problem, as cold as that may sound. 

 

A week later another one died. An older man by the name of Thom Ryan. Thom was a muggleborn, eighty years old, and a retired potioneer. He'd lived in Surrey his entire life. The only time he'd even left was to attend Hogwarts. He was a recluse. Never married, no one close to him. He just stayed in his house and brewed away night and day. 

 

His death would have caused no suspicion, except for the fact that he, like, Magdelena, was shriveled, physically fine, and had another message along the wall: 'Hate Ye Torn.' This one looked more like a sentence, but not one that made sense. 

 

No hints were left. 

 

It made no sense whatsoever. 

 

And, still, it wasn't Hermione's problem except that she was a muggleborn and it was worrying that there appeared to be a serial killer targeting her people. 

 

So maybe it was a little bit her problem. 

 

But not enough to get her professionally involved. She wasn't an auror. She wasn't meant to be chasing down dark wizards and murderers. She was a politician. She was simply there to keep the country and society running as it needed to be. 

 

Yesterday afternoon, the Forensic Healers had identified what was wrong with the bodies:

 

There was no magic left in them. Something had drained them of every ounce of their power and the magic running through their bodies. 

 

"It makes no sense, though!" Hermione argued with Healer Davis, the head of Forensics for the Ministry. She'd had this argument with all of his underlings and the aurors and finally they just brought him to her. 

 

"I know it seems far fetched that someone can be drained of their power--"

 

"That's not the problem," she insisted, rubbing her temples. "The problem isn't that they don't have magic. I don't like the idea that someone can be drained of their power, but clearly they are. Once you eliminate the impossible, and all that nonsense." He didn't appear to know what she was talking about. She sighed. "The problem is I don't accept that as a cause of death, Davis."

 

"That's all we can find," Healer Davis said. "They were drained of magic and that killed them."

 

"What about Muggles then? Or Squibs? They have no magic and they're alive."

 

"They were born with no magic," he said. "They didn't have it suddenly drained from them. Obviously we don't know the process that occurred, but it stands to reason that draining someone's magic would cause enough shock to their system to result in death. Or, perhaps, the magic within a witch or wizard keeps them alive in a way that muggles and squibs simply don't require and without that magic they eventually die."

 

"I didn't even know 'magic' was a physical thing that flowed through us!" 

 

"Well, all due respect, Minster, but you didn't exactly go to school for healing."

 

He had a point, all though she resented him for it. "I want you to keep looking for other possible causes of death," she said, waving her hand and dismissing him. 

 

She needed a smoke. Badly. 

 

She knew all of the statistics about tobacco and nicotine and how bad that was for her, but she didn't care. She had a vice. She was allowed one and anyone that tried to tell her otherwise was going to get a not so cordial invitation to bite her. Ron had learned that the hard way the first time he handed her an enchanted pamphlet about lung cancer, emphysema, and the dangers of smoking. 

 

"Okay, so, what do we knew, Granger?" she asked herself aloud, ignoring all of her aides in her room. They were used to this. This was her process. "We've got a killer--or maybe a group of them--killing muggleborns and stealing their magic. So, what, Neo-Death Eaters? Like, what, the Purists?"

 

"I hope you're not insinuating that your opposition is the cause of the murders, Minister," a deep voice asked from the doorway. She looked up, seeing Barnabus Coball, head of the Wizengamot. He wore deep purple robes, a pointed wizard hat that always made her want to giggle, and had a face that made a shark look kind. It was all sorts of wrinkled and his dark hair fell to his shoulders, obvious dyed and scraggly looking. He was ancient and believed himself to be better than, well, everyone. 

 

The Purists were a political group that had risen up in the past few years. Hermione found them disgusting, but couldn't well tell people to not have political opinions. As long as they weren't active in hate speech or crime, they had as much of a right to an opinion as everyone. This was something Coball liked to remind her very very often. 

 

"I'm just thinking aloud, Coball," Hermione said. "We need to investigate all leads."

 

"Is there evidence suggesting the Purists are part of this?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked. 

 

"Well, nothing tech--"

 

"Then that's not a lead yet, is it?" 

 

He didn't mean to be condescending. He was good at his job. He believed in innocent until proven guilty. He meant well. She repeated this over and over again to keep from losing her patience with the bloody man.

 

"Did you have something you needed to tell me?"

 

"There's been another kill," he said. "You're wanted down at the crime scene. I've got my men on trying to decipher the clues we do have." 

 

Fuck. 

 

Her head was pounding. She wasn't going to be home for a few days at this rate. 

 

She _really_ wanted that cigarette. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm the worst updater ever. I'll try not to go months without another update. Sorry guys. 
> 
> Unbetaed, all mistakes are my own, I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc. 
> 
> Any criticism or praise is more than welcome. I love hearing it <3 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Scorpius hated to admit it, but he’d always found the sorting ceremony to be as dull as could be. Returning to school was a strange emotional roller-coaster full of nerves, excitement, and dread in equal part, but in all those intense emotions, he always forgot how completely tedious matters of tradition could be. As a first year, the Sorting had been mostly too nerve wracking to be scary. But now as a fifth year, he just sat with his chin resting in his hand, half-heartedly clapping for each new student and cheering with feigned enthusiasm whenever he heard  **‘SLYTHERIN’** yelled by the hat. He didn’t want to appear aloof or unfriendly to his new housemates, after all, no matter how tired he was of watching nervous firsties sit on a chair and wear a hat. 

It really was a boring ceremony for spectators.

 

They could have at least started the feast and let the older students eat while watching the ceremony. Scorpius sighed longingly at his empty plate. 

 

Albus elbowed him and leaned in to whisper: “How can you even be thinking about food after all the sweets you ate on the train?” 

 

The hat yelled  **‘RAVENCLAW’** and a small, mousy looking girl ran off to join the blue table, flushing at all the attention on her. Scorpius clapped lightly. 

 

“I didn’t eat  _ that  _ many snacks,” he said, rolling his eyes at Albus. “Besides, I’m  _ growing.  _ That means I need food. For energy.” 

 

“You’ve grown plenty,” Albus pointed out, poking at Scorpius’s ribs and making him jump with a loud, embarrassing yelp. “You’re sure you’re not part giant?” 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just short.” That earned him another poke. 

 

In reality, Scorpius was a little annoyed with how much he just kept growing. He was far from the tallest boy in their class—that title went to Lance McMillian, who stood at a solid two metres already— but he wasn’t short. He felt like clay that was stretched out. He had horizontal growth lines across his back and knees from his skin rapidly stretching to try and keep up with him. His joints were knobby and his shoulders and hips were narrower than he thought should be possible. His body seemed to have no meat to it. Rose had enjoyed getting quite the laugh out of Scorpius one summer day by asking Scorpius how his pants stayed put when he had no hips or arse to hold them up. And he hated to admit that she hadn't exactly been wrong.

 

James Potter, in a strange act of kindness that Albus had seemed jealous of, assured Scorpius that eventually he’d grow into his skinny frame and told Scopius that he was lanky at that age, too. Nothing like Albus who was more compact. Shorter, yes, but he was able to actually pack on some mass around his shoulders and body in a way that Scorpius found far more attractive than his own weird noodle-like frame. He shook his head. He really shouldn’t be spending that much time thinking about his appearance. He wasn’t vain. He really didn’t care about what he looked like. But… well, it would have been nice to handsome. He sighed again. A girl called Yasmin de la Cruz was being called up and Scorpius wondered how they were only to the D’s when it felt like they should have been into the Z’s hours ago.

 

“I hate the Sorting,” he muttered, slouching low in his chair. Albus grumbled his agreement. Scorpius wanted to lean his head on Albus’s shoulder and rest his eyes, but resisted the urge, clapping as Yasmin made her way to the Hufflepuff table. 

 

Hogwarts classes were small. Scorpius had heard of Muggle schools that at times had upwards of a thousand students to a graduating class. That sounded awful. The anonymity would have been nice, but he was just glad he only ever had to listen to less than a hundred names—at the very very most—called at the beginning of the year. 

 

McGonnagal was good about keeping her speeches short and to the point, so by the time the last student’s name was called, she was up at the podium. 

 

“Welcome, students,” she said, voice magnified across the hall. She had the demeanor of someone you listened to, and so they all did. “I know you are ready to eat and find your dorms—” A loud cheer came from a few Seventh Years who knew they could get away with it until McGonnagal glared them back to silence,  “—but allow an old lady a few words first. This is an exciting year. We’ve got a new Professor with us this year.” She gestured to the Staff table and a relatively pretty woman stood. She had red curls that fell around her shoulders, a round face, an easy smile, and a little extra around the stomach. She looked to be the same age as Scorpius’s father, only she’d aged far better. Maybe it was all the smiling that helped. “Professor Bones will be taking over Muggle Studies this year. In the interest of unity and understanding and in light of recent… incidents, this is a required course until further notice for all third year students and up.”

 

This was common knowledge. It had only began this year. The idea was that with increased understanding of Muggle culture, this next generation would be able to shed the toxic hatred from their parents and live in harmony with all blood-classes. The boos and hisses that echoed around Scorpius said otherwise. Scopius wanted to jump on the table and yell about what he’d seen in that alternate future. To show them all what a world under the bigotry of Death Eaters would look like. He didn’t. 

 

Prof. Bones’s smile didn’t drop, even as McGonnagal yelled for silence. Once she got it, even Scorpius could feel the heat of her scowl, despite it not being directed at him. 

 

“I am  _ ashamed  _ of you,” she said. “We ask for you to simply learn about the other side and this is the reaction garnered? I have never seen a group of young people so content to wallow in their own ignorance. You will show respect to this learning institution  _ and  _ to Professor Bones and your fellow students—many of whom are Muggle Born—or we will have to have a conversation about your continued attendance to this learning institution.” 

 

Chagrined silence filled the Great Hall,  Scorpius was able to hear a girl he recognized as Theodora Zabini mumble, “Equalist indoctrination,” under her breath. A few people at the Slytherin table that overheard nodded in solidarity. A few others, like Albus and himself, looked at each other in concern. 

 

He’d really wanted a good year this term.

 

Later that night, he laid in Albus’s bed. Their other dormmates were asleep. Albus had cast a silencing spell over his tapestries. No one would think twice about that if they were to wake up. There were just some things that a fifteen year old boy needed to do and the only real way to get privacy was with spells, late at night. Scorpius flushed, thinking about Albus doing  _ that.  _ It affected him in a way really ought not to. 

 

They were curled up on their sides, facing each other. Scorpius had his knees bent way up to fit on the bed, tangled up with Albus’s so could both lay there. Scorpius had always been tactile and was more than pleased to know that Albus didn’t mind. He liked being able to casually touch his best friend. 

 

“Things are weird,” Albus whispered. Although, he really didn’t need to. The silencing spell took care of that. Scorpius understood the urge, though. 

 

“No weirder than last year,” he said, whispering as well.

 

“What was up with booing Professor Bones? And did you hear Zabini?”

 

Scorpius tried to shrug it off. “You know how people are about classes. No one wants to take more. And Zabini… well, it’s only expected. You know who her father is.”

 

Albus’s jaw tightened. Scorpius wouldn’t have been able to notice had he not been so close. “You should know better than anyone that that doesn’t matter.”

 

“What? Of course it does.”

 

Albus sat up further. “I can’t believe you’re saying that, Scorp. You know better than anyone that you don’t have to be like your parents. Your parents don’t determine your personality. Isn’t that notion the exact prejudice we’ve been dealing with our entire time here?” 

 

Scorpius’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t implied that, had he? “Of course it doesn’t, Al. You can rise above your parents. But they influence you. And if you’ve spent your entire life with parents that spew racist shit, you’re going to believe that. My father made bad decisions, yes, and held awful beliefs, but he never pushed them onto me.  _ That’s  _ the difference between me and Zabini.”

 

“That’s not an excuse, though,” Albus insisted. “At some point you have to be personally responsible for your actions. She’s almost an adult. She’s spent her life surrounded by other wizards, not all of whom are purebloods. Surely she’s realized by now there’s no real difference.”

 

Scorpius shook his head. “Fundamental attribution error, Al.”

 

“You’ve been reading those books Aunt ‘Mione gave you.” Albus was grinning. 

 

“Guilty.” So was Scorpius. "You know, you should give them a try."

 

*** * ***

 

_ Ronald _ **_:_ **

 

_ Something’s come up.  _

 

_ I’ll be late. Don’t wait up. There should be leftovers in the fridge for dinner. Don’t bother cooking. _

 

_     — Hermione Granger-Weasley,  _

_ Minister of Magic, United Kingdom _

  
  


**‘Mione**

 

**Of course something did. There’s always something.**

 

**Those leftovers went bad ages ago, but don’t worry about me. I** **_can_ ** **feed myself believe it or not. Hurry home.**

 

**-Ron**

 

_ Ronald:  _

 

_ I know it’s difficult. We knew I’d be busy. It’s part of the job. Try to enjoy having a night on your own.  _

 

_ I love you.  _

 

_     — Hermione Granger-Weasley,  _

_ Minister of Magic, United Kingdom _

 

**‘Mione.**

 

**Nights to myself are less enjoyable when it’s every single night. You’re going to work yourself to death.**

 

**-Ron**

 

_ Ronald:  _

 

_ It’s not every night. Go hang out with Harry or something. I can’t be home tonight and I’m  _ fine.  _ I do well with stress. There’s an emergency here, though, and I need to look into it. I’ll fill you in later.  _

 

_     — Hermione Granger-Weasley,  _

_ Minister of Magic, United Kingdom _

 

**‘Mione**

 

**It is every night. You’re losing it. Everyone close to you has noticed. It’s okay to take time to yourself. Be safe.**

 

**-Ron**

 

**‘Mione**

 

**Is everything okay? It’s been a few hours since you owled. Just let me know you’re alive.**

 

**-Ron**

 

_ Ronald: _

 

_ I’m alive.  _

 

_     — Hermione Granger-Weasley,  _

_ Minister of Magic, United Kingdom _

 

Hermione attached to the letter to her owl and shooed it off, back towards home, and rested her head against the desk for a moment, hoping she didn't hear back from him. That felt awful to think. She loved Ron. She really and truly did. But the man could be infuriating and smothering. She appreciated his concern, but really. Owling her because she didn’t write back fast enough? He knew how stressful her job was and Hermione rarely had time to write at all. She certainly didn’t have time for marital spats. She was waiting to hear any news back from the third crime scene.

 

“Trouble in paradise?” she heard from the doorway. She looked up to see a young woman—a codebreaker by the name of Sid—standing in the doorway. Her hair was cut short and spiky, framing her angular face and elfin features. She wore a constant smirk that reminded Hermione of Sirius in the best way possible, and the girl’s petite frame made Hermione green with envy. She wasn't who Hermione had expected to hear from tonight.

 

“Does anyone around here know how to knock?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow at Sid. "And how'd you know that?

 

“Would you let any of us in if we did?” Sid stepped inside and planted herself down in a chair, rifling through papers. "And I didn't. I was making a joke. Thanks for confirming it, though."

 

“I’d let you in.” Hermione ignored the rest of her statement.

 

Sid laughed a great belly laugh and winked. “I’m flattered, but you’re married.”

 

Hermione blushed. “I meant because you have information that I need.” Small, young, and profane as Sid could be, she was damn good at her job. There were few better in the country.

 

Sid clicked her tongue sadly. “And here I thought you only loved me for my looks.”

 

“Those don’t hurt.  So. Spill. What did you find?”

 

Sid became serious at a moment’s notice, frowning as she started to spread the papers out in front of Hermione. 

 

“Anagrams,” she said. “Not very good ones.  _ Screams  _ amateur.”

 

“An amateur good enough to require calling one of the best codebreakers in the UK to come and solve?”

 

Sid waved her hand dismissively. “You’re flattering me again, Minister. Really, though, anagrams are simple as fuck. There’s no reason the MLE officers or aurors couldn’t have handled this on their own. It’s one of the first bloody things I train my people to search for. You just rearrange the letters and if something obvious pops out, it was an anagram.” 

 

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense. What’d they say?” 

 

“Nothing unexpected,” Sid said, shaking her head. “Really, it’s pretty standard. ‘Heart, weep, rue’ becomes ‘We are pure.’ ‘Hate ye torn’ becomes ‘they are not.’ It’s really pretty disappointing.”

 

“Disappointing?” Hermione asked.

 

“Oh, er, I suppose that macabre, isn't it?” The girl had the decency to flush. “Just… it’s like they wanted to be caught. And they wanted it known who did it. No real mystery or finesse to it.”

 

“And, in your opinion, who did it?” Hermione knew exactly who. 

 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“The Purists.”

 

“Duh. As my daughter would say.” Hermione grimaced. Merlin, she felt like she was getting old. 

 

“So then I suppose the question becomes, why bother coding at all?” Hermione mused, more to herself than to Sid. Sid answered anyways. 

 

“To look cool?” she suggested, shrugging. “Or maybe to buy time?”

 

“What about the one from tonight?” Hermione frankly wasn't even sure what the scrambled version from this murder said. She didn't hardly know anything about it yet. She had declined the offer to go down to the scene. She simply had too much to do at the office and had no desire to see a dead body. She wouldn’t be any good down there. She wasn’t an investigator and had no forensics experience. She could do far more good here than she could getting in the way of the actual people that could help.

 

Sid frowned. “What one tonight?” 

 

“You weren’t told?”

 

“Uh, no.”

 

“Are you sure it wasn’t in a memo or letter? Maybe you just haven’t opened it yet?”

 

“Yeah, no. That’d be marked ‘high priority’, Minister, and I’d have seen it. I’ll go figure it out. I’ll get back to you.” She looked troubled. Rightfully so.

 

“Thank you, Sid. Pass your results onto the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.”

 

“Will do, ma’am.”

 

She rubbed her temples and started looking through the files Sid left for her and sorting through who she needed to go yell at. In all likelihood, the news had either gotten lost in a bureaucratic mess or just hadn’t made it up to Sid yet. Nothing to get too worked up over yet, but still. She needed to go crack some heads together to get things done apparently. Just add it to her never ending list of things to do, she supposed. Because even when she was at the fucking top of the chain, she still was double checking to makes sure memos went through. Ridiculous.

 

It was close to midnight when she trudged through the door back to her house. She’d thought about sleeping at the Ministry. She had quarters there for nights like this one, but she wanted to be home. Their house was out on a stretch of land surrounded by privacy wards and spells. Once she’d started rising quickly through the political ranks, Hermione didn’t want her kids surrounded by reporters. Their house was private and small despite the fact that she and Ron could afford far better. Big houses were lonely, and really manors weren’t they’re style. She shuddered a little but at the thought of the last time she’d been in a house large enough to call itself a manor and found herself running her fingers across where ‘mudblood’ had once been writ on her arm. Not a pretty thought. She shook it off. 

 

She stepped inside and flicked on the muggle style lights she favoured, smiling at her lived-in (read: messy) living room. 

 

“Hi,” Ron said. She looked up and frowned at her husband. 

 

“I thought I told you not to wait up?”

 

“Since when have I ever been good at listening to instructions?” 

 

“Never. I can’t decide if I love or hate that about you.” She flopped down on the couch next to him, kicked her shoes across the room, and leaned her head on Ron’s shoulder. His fingers found her scalp through the mess of curls and scratched in that way she liked. She sighed happily. 

 

“You know you love me.”

 

“Mm, I don’t know…” He pulled a ringlet of hair hard enough to sting. She whacked his shoulder. “Arsehole.” 

 

“Want something to eat?” he asked.

 

“God, yes, I’m starved,” she said. 

 

She laid back on the couch, getting comfortable and letting her eyes fall closed. This was her favourite part of the day. Lazing about with her husband and no responsibilities. She wasn’t relaxed—she was never relaxed—but it was close enough that she didn’t care. She fell asleep right there on the couch, unable to keep her eyes open for another second, with the knowledge that tomorrow she’d get up at the crack of dawn to do this all over again. 

  
She dreamt of magic-sucking vampires and words puzzles and cold grey eyes and the first time anyone ever sneered and spat the word ‘Mudblood’ at her.


End file.
